


Awakening

by 221B_Johnkhanlocked



Series: Life with Sherlock [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 17:44:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3497180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221B_Johnkhanlocked/pseuds/221B_Johnkhanlocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has seen Sherlock but never observed him. When he inadvertently hurts Sherlock's feelings he needs to figure out why. And once he does? Can he handle the truth that maybe, just maybe he has feelings for the consulting detective? </p>
<p>It's his aha moment.</p>
<p>No consulting detective, blogger or fangirl was harmed in the writing of this piece.</p>
<p>Don't own these characters, they do whatever they want.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awakening

There are many people that know Sherlock and I through his work as a consulting detective and through my blog regaling our adventures together. I think it is funny how many on my blog said they ’shipped’ us and for the longest time I kept telling them A) I wasn’t gay and B) Sherlock was definitely asexual- that is I THOUGHT he was for the longest time because he never seemed to be interested in intimacy of any kind with anything living. DO NOT ask me what I thought he felt towards the DEAD. It didn’t seem to matter what I wrote, our fans simply decided that we were a couple and that we had best just accept the fact. It made Sherlock laugh most times when I read out loud to him the stories they had written of said ‘relationship’. At most I found it amusing, in sort of a cute, annoying way. To be frank, we were busy running after criminals, dodging bullets and knives, wrangling the criminally insane and bringing justice for those that had been murdered. So the day that started our actual relationship began rather oddly when Sherlock approached me, holding MY computer ---as usual, he’d guessed my pin, damn him—and said with crazy, sleep deprived eyes, “You will NOT believe how many fanfics there are online that ‘ship’ us as a couple!”

I smirked. I mean HOW many could it really be? Last time I had checked it was about three hundred. Yes, that’s a lot but three hundred I could somehow accept. I mean look at Sherlock, he’s a handsome devil, always smartly appointed and out in public often in his famous blue scarf saving the world from lunatic criminals. Then there was me-tagging along somewhat patiently- saving him as he saved everybody else. We weren’t celebrities by any shot but in London we were becoming something moderately big I assumed due to his miracle return from death. I took the laptop from him and looked at his internet search results. He had simply put in our names and already Google tried helping by making the following suggestions:

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson RELATIONSHIP  
Sherlock Holmes and John Watson ROMANCE  
Sherlock Holmes and John Watson DATING  
Sherlock Holmes and John Watson FANFIC  
Sherlock Holmes and John Watson JOHNLOCK

When I opened the fanfic suggestion the first site was archiveofourown.org and it listed over 77,000 works about us. I was speechless and for a blogger that is unheard of. I looked at Sherlock. He was standing there in a sheet- nothing else mind you, just a damn sheet- his face full of expectation. All I could think was, REALLY Sherlock, just a fucking sheet? You wonder why people think we are a THING? I sighed and said, “Think maybe you could go get dressed?”

He chose to ignore me. “What the bloody hell is Johnlock?”

I shrugged and opened that next suggestion. Oh God. Ok, so how could I explain the images I was saw in the search results to someone who likely didn’t even know some of the sexual positions existed? “It seems to be a combination of your name and mine and it implies, well, that we are in a torrid sexual relationship.”

“What?” He asked startled. “Let me see.”

I pulled the computer back as he reached for it. “I think it might disturb you, Sherlock. Let’s just forget about this, ok? Let’s get you DRESSED and we’ll go get some breakfast at that new bagel place. Sound good?”

“Give me the computer,” He stated flatly, hand out, palm up. With the other hand he grasped the top of his sheet but it was slipping.

“Sherlock, I swear if you lose that sheet I’m going to kill you.”

A dark brow shot up. “You will, will you?”

OH CRAP! NO. “No, Sherlock, I’m NOT challenging you! Just seriously, ok, this is getting weird now. We’re talking about the strange things people out there think about us and here you are in a fucking sheet about to get completely naked in front of me.”

“Strange? What sorts of strange things, Watson? Show me.” He said with a distinct air of arrogance. He expected me to cave, to give him the computer. As I knew his next ploy would be a full on temper tantrum I handed over the computer before he could start.

He took it and sat on the sofa, face close to the screen. His eyes widened. “Interesting.”

As he continued to scroll through the explicit images he kept murmuring to himself, “That’s not even possible, is it? Well, at least this one has my measurements correct. Hmm, that might be from a crime scene, actually.”

Finally, after several long minutes- during which I wanted to hide my head in sand- he glanced up at me. As he seemed distant and thinking of what he wanted to say, I waited on him to filter through his rather elaborate thought process. He said with just a hint of something unresolved in his tone, “They seem to think you and I are into BDSM and that YOU are the dominant one.”

I hadn’t really noticed as I hadn’t scrolled down as far as he had. I smirked at him, “Maybe they think so because I’m experienced where as you are…”

“What? Where as I am what, Watson?”

UGH. I swallowed. Well in for a penny and all that. I told him frankly, “Some people think you are asexual.”

He tilted his head, regarding me. With sincere curiosity he asked, “But what do you think?”

His question caught me by surprise. I sank down slowly into my chair, holding the Union Jack pillow over my lap. He kept eye contact with me until I looked away embarrassed.

“I see, you think the same thing.”

I cleared my throat, “Well, I’m not sure. Besides the Woman, whom you laughed at and teased mostly and that poor girl you feigned interest in to get into her office building, I’ve not seen you show a spark of sexual interest in anyone.”

Sherlock heaved an unhappy sigh and hung his head. I braced myself for the confession and told myself to be as caring and supportive of my flat mate as I could. He said so softly I almost didn’t catch it, “You see but fail to observe yet again. I thought perhaps your intellect, though not matching mine, was at least higher than Anderson’s.”

He laid my laptop on the sofa, rose and left the room. I sat there too stunned to move. What the Hell was that about? He had sounded so profoundly hurt that I couldn’t even be angry at his insult. Besides he called me an idiot so frequently that it wasn’t effective in getting much of a rise from me anymore. I waited ten minutes, when he didn’t return, I decided I had better go apologize for whatever slight he felt I had made. If I didn’t he would sulk for days and at the moment, I didn’t want to deal with that side of his personality.

I knocked softly on his bedroom door and called out, “Sherlock? May I come in? I’d like to talk about this.”

When he didn’t answer I checked to see if he had locked his door and found thankfully that he hadn’t. I pushed it open and peeked in. He wasn’t in the bed or at his desk. As I passed through the room to get to the bathroom door I looked around amazed yet again- and somewhat perturbed- about how neat it was when he normally didn’t give a toss about the rest of the flat. I stepped around a table covered by a cloth and topped with a carefully stacked pile of books. His room was neat, yes, but completely packed with an odd assortment of items one might find in a museum. I had to go around two more objects- including the handle of his harpoon that leaned against the wall—until I reached the door finally and knocked.

I waited. No response. I knocked again harder. I knew he could hear me, I could hear HIM ignoring me. Annoyed I grabbed the doorknob, when it jiggled he shouted out angrily, “Leave me the fuck alone!”

Again, hurt was dripping through his voice like acid and tore into me, burning the flesh of my heart. I had really upset him somehow. Determined to make amends I opened the door slowly and stuck my head in. “Sherlock? Please tell me why you are so upset.”

When he actually wailed like I was cutting him open I came crashing into the bathroom to reach him. He sat on the toilet lid, sheet long discarded on the floor and he had his head in his hands, absolutely sobbing. I felt like shit and I didn’t even know my crime against him.

“God, Sherlock, whatever stupid, bloody thing I did…and I DON’T know what I did…I apologize. Please stop crying, I feel like I’ve torn your heart out somehow.”

Sherlock tensed when I put a hand on his bare shoulder but other than that he didn’t move. He continued to cry and sniffle into his hands. I pulled off a wad of toilet paper and stuffed it into an open space between his fingers. He took it and wiped his nose. I could see his eyes were dark from inner misery and wet. I had seen him sad before, but not like this. I considered the last time I had seen great emotion like this from him and it dawned on me that it had been quite a while but I HAD indeed seen him nearly this upset. It had occurred when he had been saying goodbye to me for the second time, when he was being sent away from London on a suicide mission- when he had expected to never see me again. He had tried to tell me something that day, I was sure. At the time I didn’t understand. But now, here with Sherlock crying his heart out naked in the bathroom, realization struck like a bloody arrow.  
I knelt down in front of him, placing my hands on his knees, taking a deep, steadying breath I said, “You love me.”

His breathing hitched and mid-cry he waited, listening. I felt fear and uncertainty roll off him in waves. He was afraid I was going to reject him or scoff at him. I wondered for a brief moment if anybody had ever hurt him that way and I became almost angry thinking about that. I had to clear my thoughts and refocus on what he was feeling in this moment. What did he need to hear the most in this very instant? What would calm his fears?

“Sherlock, not only do I see you now, I observe and deduce. Would you like for me to share that with you?” A slight nod prompted me to continue, “You think you are invisible to me. You think I haven’t noticed you trying to get my attention. Damn it Sherlock, you know I’m a bloody idiot! You know I’m practically blind to what is probably obvious to everyone who knows us! No, you are not invisible. I see you wearing that purple shirt! I notice you running around in the damn sheet in the flat. I feel when you touch my hand accidentally when you hand me tea or notice you grabbing it to run with me. Damn it, Sherlock. I just didn’t fathom the MEANING behind all that! I thought…I thought you were MARRIED to the work… so I didn’t push past that. I accepted you at face value. I see now I should have dug deeper, considered what it all meant. Ah, Hell, now I’M crying. I wasted all those years ‘seeing you, not observing you’, Sherlock. I… (FUCKING breathe, JOHN)…I love you too.”

Sherlock didn’t move- didn’t even take a breath- I was worried about him passing out in fact. “Did you hear me? I love you.”

Shyly, he lifted his head. I smiled at him and he shuddered. I leaned forward and pushed the stray locks from his face to see his beautiful grey/blue eyes with their strange little golden-green flecks. I asked him, “Do you forgive me?”

I snorted when he shook his head. He grinned sheepishly and replied, “You’ll have to make it up to me for all those years you wasted.”

“Oh yeah? Ok, how about we start like this?” I grabbed him by the hair and tugged him to my mouth. He gasped as our lips touched, tried pulling back to look at me. I was having none of that anxiety driven nonsense. I reinforced my hold on his head and dipped upwards, smoothly connecting us again. When he moaned I entered his mouth and ran my tongue playfully against his. He squirmed closer and closed his eyes, sighing. We simply sat there kissing, him mostly still on the toilet lid and me at his feet kneeling up and reaching out to hold him. He placed both hands on my shoulders and I felt his long fingers splayed out taking some of his weight as he collapsed forward into the damn hottest, longest kiss I’d ever had.

Finally, I had to break for air. As I pulled away, he whined. I reassured him, “This isn’t the most comfortable position, Sherlock…um, nor is it the MOST romantic!”

Sherlock sighed but nodded his agreement. “Shall we continue somewhere else?”

He seemed so hopeful, so hesitant that I grabbed him by the hand as I rose. “Oh God yes!”

I tugged him to get him on his feet. I had seen his naked body- well most of it anyway – on different occasions but I’d never seen him fully erect and jutting with need. I swallowed a little nervously. He saw it of course.

Sherlock frowned at me, standing firmly planted in place. “You are not gay.”

I lifted one brow at him, nodding. “I know.”

“But, I am actually at a loss here, if you are not gay then why …”

“Sherlock, shut up. Stop thinking. I do not find an interest in men. I do have an interest in YOU. ONLY you. I can’t explain why. I don’t even want to try. Maybe the heart wants what it wants will have to be a good enough explanation. What I do want to do RIGHT now is go into the damn bedroom and shag your bloody brains out, ok?”

Licking his lips as my words sunk into that amazing, complex mind of his; he replied simply, “Ok.”

He allowed me to drag him into his bedroom- only one thing got bumped and fell over on our rush to get in bed—and I started stripping as we went. He had his one hand locked in mine and one hand was trying to help with buttons. I dropped his hand and suddenly I felt him snatching at my belt and jeans. I assisted him by wiggling my hips which made him actually grin and got my trousers off. His eyes grew wide as he saw my tent in my underpants. “Told you so,” I murmured. 

“Wait, wait,” He told me raising a hand and planting it firmly in the center of my bare chest. 

“I swear if you back out now, Sherlock, I’m going to go get my gun.”

He snorted, “What’s with all this talk about killing me today? Is this something I should be concerned about?”

“Get in the FUCKING bed!”

“Yes, Captain Watson, but I wanted to slow down a second, get a good memory imprint of this moment.”

I groaned at him. He had told me recently during a long heated debate how he best got memories into his Mind Palace- “HAS to do with the six senses, Watson”--- and when I had told him he had obviously delated the fact humans have only five senses he had scolded me and told me I was wrong. Turns out, according to Sherlock, there are six senses with the Sixth being INTUITION.

“You want to make a bloody memory to put into your Mind Palace this FUCKING SECOND? And you wonder why I’m talking about killing you?”

He grinned again and I found it so endearing that I calmed down somewhat. He noticed and grasped the sides of my face. He leaned down, eyes closed and sniffed me just under my chin, close to the collar bone. He stuck his tongue out and swiped it slowly down my body, starting at my ear lobe and trailing it downwards as he sank towards his knees, over my chest, right nipple, belly, hip bone and stopping at my pubic hair line. I couldn’t believe he was so close, kneeling at my crotch a mere three centimeters from my cock and when he looked up at me staring with dark lust in his eyes I nearly came from that alone. Gingerly he lifted my balls and with the other hand felt of my silky cock head and dipped to sniff and lick at it. It undid me. I started groaning so loud I was afraid of scaring Mrs. Hudson into thinking I was having a heart attack. At hearing my short sharp intakes of breath and my wild moans of passion, he released his grip on me and stood. He leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “I’ve used my five senses. Just one more, then I’ll let you TAKE me.”

Dazed and flying over the moon, I asked him, “What’s left?”

“Intuition, which you feel with your heart. Do you really love me?”

I nodded mutely.

“Tell me!”

“I love you, Sherlock. Deeply, passionately.”

With a deep, satisfied sigh he told me happily, “It’s locked away forever. Have your way.”

Released like a formerly caged, starved beast, I lifted him up and flung him onto the bed. It made a lot of racket. But silence be damned. Mrs. Hudson was already assuming we were doing this! Might as well as prove the old meddlesome woman right! 

I pounced on him eagerly and seeing the shy smile he was giving me it was my turn to pull back on my own reigns a moment. “Have you done this before?”

He chuckled smoothly and nodded, “Been awhile though. Bit of fun in Uni. Nothing long term and certainly not with a bloke I really cared for.”

“Same here” I told him. Surprise crossed his face. “It was an experiment, one guy. Over very quickly.”

He nodded in understanding.

“I’ll be gentle with you,” I said to him. I wasn’t that surprised to see him shake his head, spilling dark curls into his face.

“No need, just prepare me,” He stated. “There’s lube in the top drawer there.”

“You have LUBE?” I gasped, teasing him a bit.

Sherlock huffed, “Don’t be annoying. We’ll need quite a bit seeing how thick you are.”

I chuckled at his description of me while retrieving the bottle and tossing it onto the bed for easy reach. “Right, lube it is, good.”

I laid on my side next to him, sliding into his warm embrace. He nuzzled me a moment then allowed me to take over the kiss. He smelled damn wonderful, sweet with a touch of musk behind it. We stayed like that, kissing deeply and holding one another, petting and stroking whatever came beneath our hands. It was Heaven. 

This time he pushed away and sat up next to me. He ran long graceful fingers down my chest, over my belly and stroked under my cock at the top of my balls. I arched spasmodically as he lifted his hand and did the complete route again only this time crossing over the opposite nipple. 

He then stroked my thigh and I parted my legs for Him. I moaned and struggled to rise onto my elbows to watch him. He had moved over my lap and planted his face into my crotch, licking at the sensitive head of my cock, nipping at it playfully and nudging it with his lips. I couldn’t keep still. I groaned as his head dove down and engulfing my cock in his hot, wet mouth. The suction he applied was sending me ever closer to an enormous orgasm. I grabbed his hair. “Slow down, I’m going to explode.”  
“Hmmm,” He hummed into me and I felt it reverberate through my body from my cock as a lightening pole. I thrust up into his throat, uncontrollably quaking with desire. Just as I crested that razor sharp edge and dangled over it, being torn up from passion- he stopped. I grasped at his face but he swatted away my hands as he sat up. He looked at me, his eyes dark and hungry.  
Sherlock moaned, “I want you inside me.”

I nodded yes, I understood. I’m not sure where the Hell my brain was, my body was acting totally on it’s own. Sherlock turned away from me on his hands and knees and looked expectantly over his shoulder, biting his lower lip as anxiety returned. GOD, do not FUCK this up, I told myself. DO NOT hurt him!

With shaking hands I found the lube bottle and popped it open. He jumped at the sound and I nearly dropped it. Fumbling to squeeze just a little into my hand I ended up with a huge blob-way too much- in my palm. I felt an insane giggle coming out of me. This looked so damn easy in porn videos and authors were always describing the smooth neat applications of their character’s lube onto the writhing bodies of their lovers. Sherlock was on all fours, stiffly waiting, and I had already acted like a complete novice. “This isn’t as easy as I remembered.” I told him, trying not to get the slick glob anywhere except on my fingers and his hole.

Sherlock seemed to relax though as he saw me struggling. “You’re not exactly building my confidence here,” He said with a light smirk I knew to take as teasing, not a serious cutting remark.

Patiently he waited as I finally managed to get the lube relatively where it was supposed to go. With one finger I pressed against the tight hole and heard him moan in anticipation. I told him- and myself to be honest—“Just relax. Breathe.”

We both did as I commanded and I grew more confident. The ring of muscle pulsed around me as I entered his body with the one well lubed finger. I turned it seeking his prostrate and as soon as I found it he arched his back, dropping his chest onto his folded arms. His lovely ass wiggled in the air and I found myself drooling at how graceful he made his position look. “God, Sherlock.”

I slid in another finger and with both I started a rhythm of sliding in and out. My free hand mindlessly rubbed at my own cock but I knew I’d better stop such action or I’d shoot all over the bed. I wasn’t exactly a young stallion any more. As I knew I only had one orgasm in me for the night I removed the torturing hand from my cock and placed it on his hip. A third finger joined the first two and he gave a sharp hiss of pain.

Probably afraid I’d stop, which I was considering, he quickly gasped out, “I’m fine. Feels good.” Only he wasn’t all that coherent and it came out lusty and out of breath.

“I need you,” I said to him. My NEED was overpowering my niceties now. I HAD to enter him or lose my mind. He hung his head and I took it to be a nod of consent.

I slicked lube over myself and nearly came from the sensation and my intense desire for him. I bit down on my lip. Damn, this was hard—-I snorted at my own pun and had to shake my head to refocus. My feelings and thoughts were all over the place. Panting I crawled over to kneel up and placed my cock’s head at his entry. When he felt it he moaned softly. 

“Yes,” he said to my unasked question. He was ready. We were in sync and I almost could not breathe, I felt so light and happy.

I pushed forward just as he pushed back and my entry was a bit too fast, a bit too deep and he cried out at the sudden invasion. I grabbed him by the hips to keep him still. I licked my lips. “That could have been much gentler, Sherlock. Let ME enter you first before you trust yourself back onto me, ok? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s fine, you can move forward again.”

I heaved a sigh that he wasn’t in too much pain apparently. I continued my slide inwards at a much more controlled pace. He shuddered as I slid in finally until I was fully emerged in his tight, delicious hole grasping at my cock. 

“God, that feels great, “ I told him lovingly. He moaned breathlessly in agreement. 

Ever impatient he thrust his hips back again and I drew it back out immediately, slamming home harder this time. He cried out and laid his head against the cool sheet. My senses were gone. I pumped. He rode it out. Our bodies pushing and pulling in a brisk rhythm that sent cold bursts of fire up and down my spine.

I reached around and found his organ was full and dripping copious amounts of pre-cum all over the sheets. I squeezed him in my fist and listened as his sounds became more desperate. With my other hand planted on his shoulder I now had a stable unmoving target to pump into as hard and fast as I desired. My thrusts became erratic as I felt him stiffen and heard a strangled cry of Sherlock’s pending orgasm. I was right behind him on that ledge. As he fell over it he pulled me over with him. Spurting hard, my cock became the bloody center of the universe. After a moment, I stopped my thrusting and pushed him to lie down. I laid on top of him, my sweat soaked forehead pressing into his own glistening back.

We stayed still like that a long time, too stunned by pleasure to move. He finally shifted under me, encouraging me to turn onto my side to allow him to do the same. I grabbed my undershirt where earlier I had carelessly tossed it onto the head of the bed and wiped us both down with it. I threw it to the floor. We faced each other, foreheads and knees touching. He caressed my face and I smiled at him.

“Fuck,” I said.

“Yeah,”Sherlock replied. He yawned almost apologetically.

I shrugged, I was exhausted form so many changes in the emotions I had felt that day and well, yes, from our strenuous bedroom activity. “It’s fine. Go to sleep.”

He nodded, eyes closing. He murmured, “You’ll stay here. Share my bed.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. This was going to be my bed too. I accepted that fact immediately.

“Obviously,” I remarked dryly.

After a few moments his eyes popped open, I could HEAR him thinking as I smiled across at him. “What is it, Sherlock?”

“You’re not going to BLOG about this are you?”

I barked a laugh, “You are an idiot. Of course not. Why?”

Sherlock sighed as he let his soft blue eyes flutter closed again. “Wouldn’t want to encourage those writers and artists.”

I wiggled towards him until my arm was draped over his shoulder. I whispered to him, “Trust me, love, they’ll still ship us whether or not we encourage them!”

**Author's Note:**

> I love, love, love you guys. This was going to be Chapter 2 but hey, here's how they started out. Hope you liked it as it was so MUCH fun to write!
> 
> If Benny reads this...* waving and blushing... sorry for making you sound like a WUSS. But hey, real men cry too, right?


End file.
